


A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

by Tangerine



Category: X-Factor (Comics)
Genre: Case Fic, Detective Noir, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:57:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerine/pseuds/Tangerine
Summary: Summoned to Beverly Hills by M on their day off, Rictor, Banshee, M and Shatterstar work to solve the case before it becomes a murder.





	A Self-Fulfilling Prophecy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [snowshus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowshus/gifts).



> Takes place during X-Factor 215.
> 
> Happy Yuletide, snowshus!

Whoever was calling him was insistent. Julio would give them that much. It didn't mean he wasn't thinking of creative ways to murder them in their sleep. This was his day off. Try as he might, he couldn't ignore the relentless buzz of his phone on the bedside table, dragging him out of a fitful doze. Eyes closed, he slapped his hand around on the nightstand before he finally felt it under his palm. 

" _What_?"

"Very professional, Rictor," Monet said. He could hear her sigh as clearly as if she was standing next to him. "I've sent you a picture. Gather whomever you can, including your boyfriend, and meet me there."

He sat up, dragging a hand over his face. "I thought you were in Beverly Hills?" 

"I am. Stop talking to me and do what I asked." 

"Whatever," Julio replied, knowing she had already hung up. It just felt good to say it. 

~~

Ten minutes later, he'd managed to locate Terry – who, like him, hadn't had the good sense to actually leave the premises – and Star, who was the only one naive enough to answer his phone when Julio called. Which wasn't exactly fair, but Julio was in a terrible mood and just wanted to go back to bed. 

Five minutes after that, he and Terry were sitting outside, waiting for Star to show up and teleport them. 

"I thought Monet was in Beverly Hills," Terry said, tying her hair back in a ponytail.

"She is," Julio replied, distracted. He looked at his phone, trying to memorize the details of the image Monet had sent him. Terry leaned into his space, humming as she examined the photo on the screen.

It was a mansion. A large one. Its Gothic architecture stood out of place against the sunny backdrop of California. There were gargoyles looming over the grey stone facade, dark and ominous. And – if popular culture had taught him anything – it was clearly a place where people went and got murdered. 

~~

Julio was in the middle of replying to Monet – whose angry texts of _where are you???_ and _how long can this possibly take you???_ were grinding on his last nerve – when Star finally sauntered up. 

"Are you good to go?" Julio asked, standing up and tucking his phone into the back pocket of his jeans.

"Always," Star replied easily. He was already in uniform, the lines of his body enhanced by the contrast of the black and white leather and how snugly it clung to him. "I thought Monet was in Beverly Hills." 

"She is." Julio gave himself a quick pat down to make sure his gun was securely in its holster, hidden by his jacket. He could already feel Star's power crackling in the air. Julio kept the image of the mansion in his head. "I'm going against my better judgment here. We're probably all going to die."

Terry smiled faintly. "So just another day at the office then?"

"Sounds highly enjoyable," Star added as he cut an X through space and time. 

Julio, without hesitating, stepped into it, Terry moving close behind him.

~~ 

Monet met them at the gate. Sliding her sunglasses down her nose, she took a long look at them.

"Good enough," she decided. She turned around and started walking up the long driveway. Terry huffed, amused, but she followed without protest, catching up with Monet in a few long strides. Julio stared after her, torn between staying and hitching a ride to the airport so he could home and sleep. 

Star stood beside him, looking up at the house.

"I understand what you mean now," he remarked, swords hidden away, arms crossed. 

"I know, right? Fuck. It's like nobody ever learns from this predictable _Wuthering Heights_ bullshit."

"That would be too easy," Star said with a slight shrug, and Julio sighed. 

~~

It turned out that Monet had, for some inexplicable reason, agreed in principle to purchase this murder house. There was one holdup: the sister of the current owner was convinced someone was going to be killed in it that night. _I fucking knew it_ , Julio thought but showed restraint and kept his mouth shut. 

"I used to be clairvoyant," Lindsay explained, holding up a notebook. She flipped through it until she found the page she was looking for and held it out. There was a panic of scribbles over the lined paper, almost incomprehensible. Julio kept his expression neutral. "I wrote everything down. My sister never believed me. I was wrong a lot – the future is such a tricky thing, and my visions never made much sense, even on the best of days – but not always." She exhaled. "And then I lost my powers on M-Day."

"Sorry," Julio said reflexively.

"Thanks," she replied, glancing briefly at him. She then let her gaze linger a little longer like she suddenly recognized him. "But you see my problem. I can't let my sister sell this house, especially since she won't disclose something like this. But Monet is extremely persuasive. And determined."

"I want this house," Monet said, reclined on a chair like it was already hers.

Julio finally blurted out the other thing that had been on his mind since they'd first stepped through the imposing entrance and into the front foyer. "Let me just solve this whole mystery right now," he said, holding up a hand. Monet glared at him. "It was Mr Mustard, with the lead pipe, in the Conservatory." 

"Actually," Star said from where he loomed in the corner of the room, "Mr Mustard was a Colonel." 

Julio rolled his eyes. 

~~

Julio had long held the belief that having money didn't correlate with intelligence. So far, this theory was looking more like a fact. Despite the – _admittedly lunatic_ , Julio thought, as he flipped through the notebook – scribbles of her now-human sister, Sarah refused to reschedule the party. Most of the notebook appeared to be nonsense, but there were a few dates he recognized that held significance. 

Lindsay had – if he was reading this madness correctly – predicted M-Day.

That combined with the overall menacing atmosphere of the murder house made him think this was for real. He wasn't particularly thrilled that they had no solid information beyond that, but in his time with X-Factor Investigations, he had learned to set the bar as low as humanly possible and hope for the best.

It always seemed to work out fine in the end, though their mortality record left something to be desired. 

"Thoughts?" Terry asked once Lindsay left the room, beckoned angrily by her sister. 

"I take back what I said before," Julio said. "We're _definitely_ all going to die."

Monet scoffed. "You're underestimating how badly I want this house."

Julio rolled his eyes again. 

~~

Someone who worked there – footman, steward, butler, Julio had no idea, but he was wearing a stuffy suit and looked decidedly unimpressed by their presence – showed them to their rooms. There was a moment of confusion over who went where, but Julio eventually ended up alone with Shatterstar.

"You told me never to answer my phone on my day off," Star said.

"Yeah, well, turns out we're both idiots." Julio sat down at the desk and opened his laptop. In the midst of considering all the ways this house could kill him, he'd noticed the plethora of security cameras. Star walked up behind him and crossed his arms. "I bet I can get into their network in under five minutes."

"That would be a foolish wager to make, Julio," Star replied. "I already know you can do that."

Julio cracked his knuckles. "It was worth a shot," he said, ignoring Star's soft snort, and got to work. 

~~

As he poked around, Star sat by the window, watching guests arrive. As Julio suspected, the place had cameras everywhere. Nothing, thankfully, in private rooms, but if it was public, there were eyes on it. It seemed like overkill, even for the area, so he assumed they were hiding something... or protecting it. 

Two garment bags showed up at the door, carried by another stuffy man in a suit. Star took them with a sincere thank you and laid them out on the king-sized bed. Julio pulled himself away from his laptop and walked over to examine the new arrivals. Each bag contained a tuxedo, a polo shirt, a pair of khaki shorts, fresh underwear, socks, and two pairs of shoes: brown leather loafers and shiny black oxfords. 

There was also a note pinned to his bag. 

_Look presentable_ , it said in Monet's perfect handwriting. _Lunch will be served at one in the backyard_.

Julio glanced over at the clock. Not even noon yet. 

Star looked at him, a white polo shirt in one hand, beige khaki shorts in the other. Julio had no doubt he'd already showered that morning, sometime after Julio had told him to fuck off and let him sleep. Without a word, Julio turned away and walked into the adjoining bathroom, already half undressed. The tile was cool under his bare feet as he reached in to turn on the shower. He felt Star behind him. 

He stepped under into water, bowing his head under the hot stream, Star's hands already on his back. 

~~

"I had no idea people played croquet unironically," Julio said after lunch, surveying the scene with a gin and tonic in his hand. He felt like a fool in these clothes, especially after Monet had made him tuck in his shirt, but the alcohol helped. It always helped. "Growing up, I thought the rules involved hitting the ball as hard as I could at my cousins. The winner was the one who could still walk at the end." 

"I believe I prefer your version," Star remarked. 

Julio snorted softly. 

Monet and Terry were down with the crowd, both wearing flowing sundresses and floppy hats. As usual, Monet had attracted a large audience and remained at the centre of it. Terry, on the other hand, moved between people, expression sunny, a touch here and there to assure them she wasn't a threat. 

Every so often, Monet and Terry looked at each other and smiled as if no one else was there. 

_Interesting_ , Julio thought, sipping his drink. Beside him, Star twitched. He had clearly noticed, too.

~~

Eventually, he and Star split up, though it was more that Julio slipped away while Star was being fawned over. He understood Star's concern, even as he resented it. Someone was getting murdered tonight, and it could very well be him, but he hated when Star hovered. Julio could take care of himself.

The polo shirt had meant he'd had to leave his gun behind in the room. Star, his hatred of firearms well known, had seemed torn by Julio's decision. He'd briefly considered sticking it into the waistband of his shorts, but he had no desire to accidentally shoot himself in the ass or, even worse, blow off his junk. 

His junk was basically the only thing he had going for himself right now, and it would be a shame to lose it, but he felt naked unarmed, which he hated, but it was what it was. He couldn't change the past. 

~~

He roamed the murder house, trying to blend in as well as his pink polo shirt would let him. From time to time, he checked his phone, thumbing through the security footage he'd set up his laptop to stream. Nothing out of the ordinary, except one former mutant skulking about in the halls, in crisp khaki shorts. 

Julio laughed to himself, low, under his breath. 

He felt like a fool. 

As he ducked into the billiard room to snoop, he didn't know what he had hoped to find. An illicit liaison, perhaps, or someone clearly plotting a murder. Detailed plans for an art theft, a front for an arms dealer, or just some illegal moonshine behind a hidden door. He still couldn't rule out a good, old-fashioned haunting or, even more likely, a possession, considering the general vibes of the house. 

He'd seen this movie a few times, and he knew exactly how it was destined to end.

With a sigh, he picked up a pool cue and chalked the tip.

 _Señor Richter, with the pool cue, in the billiard room_ , he thought as he took the break shot. 

~~

In time, he was joined by three older men. Two were serious about the game. A third was more focussed on Julio's ass, but Julio used that to his advantage. Like him, the man had indulged in lunchtime gin and tonics and spoke freely. A little prod here, a little wiggle of his ass there, and all the juicy gossip and rumours came tumbling out. The other two helpfully chimed in from time to time. 

Three sordid affairs. Two couples in bankruptcy. This married man – the ring gleamed on his finger, gold and gaudy – trying to get into his pants. None of the gossip seemed to lead anywhere, which was disappointing, but it wasn't all bad. Julio ended up making a tidy three hundred dollars when he won. 

It wasn't exactly a hustle, but it wasn't above the board either. 

"You cheeky boy," his admirer said, taking one last lingering look at him, gaze open and admiring. 

"Gentlemen, it's been a slice," he found himself saying. He blamed the polo shirt and the khakis. 

~~

Back in their room, Julio undressed and started putting on his tux. Star returned when Julio was standing in front of the vanity, wearing only his pants, combing product through his hair. Walking past him silently, Star trailed a possessive hand over his naked back before disappearing in the bathroom.

When Star came out, he'd stripped down to his underwear. His skin shone with moisture where he'd wiped himself down, presumably from spending too much time outside in the sweltering heat. In the mirror, Julio watched as Star's reflection removed his tuxedo from the garment bag and laid it out. 

"Discover anything useful?" Julio asked.

"Nothing that would help the case." Star slipped on his shirt and buttoned it with deft fingers, meeting Julio's eyes in the mirror. A brief smile – almost imperceptible – crossed his lips. "Four room numbers."

Julio stood up and wiped his hands on a towel. "Is that all? You're losing your touch. There are fifty guests." 

"I wasn't trying particularly hard," Star told him, fastening his pants at the waist, over his tucked-in shirt. 

"You never do," Julio replied. He picked up Star's cuff links, and Star offered his wrists easily. "Sorry I ditched you earlier," he murmured, threading the metal through Star's cuffs, first the left, then the right. He grabbed Star's bow tie from on top the bed and knotted it around his neck. "Today was a bad day."

"Better now?"

"Yeah, I love this shit," Julio confirmed as if Star didn't already know that, and Star smiled brightly. 

~~

They went to Monet's room, where she was doing Terry's makeup. Julio whistled when he saw them. He may have finally come out after years of ambiguity, but he still had eyeballs, and they both looked stunning. Monet rolled her eyes but managed to keep any biting comments to herself. Terry just smiled.

"Star and I got nothing useful."

"We had similar luck," Terry said, closing her eyes as Monet drew black eyeliner along her lash line.

"Other than several torrid affairs that everyone knows about and the two pairs with money troubles, which would have been obvious, even if I wasn't a telepath – I can spot a fake Coach handbag from a mile away – I didn't sense anything particularly murderous from anybody here," Monet told him. 

"It could be another telepath," Star suggested, leaning against the wall. He looked like he had been born to wear that tuxedo. Julio tried to ignore him. "Or someone extremely talented at shielding their mind. Or it could be a crime of passion. Television assures me powerful emotion often leads to murder."

Terry smiled. "That's true enough. I've read many scandalous novels that have told me the same." 

Julio ignored them. "What are the chances the house itself tries to murder someone?" 

Monet considered that, which was more than Julio was expecting. "I admit this place has character," she said, "but I thoroughly checked the county records. Being on this team has made me paranoid."

"Understandable," Star said. "But I do agree with Julio. This house is... unsettling."

Terry blinked a few times, lifting her head when Monet put a finger under her chin. Monet's gaze was almost thoughtful as she examined her handiwork, nodding when satisfied. "I love this house," Terry confessed, closing her eyes again so Monet could add false lashes. "It reminds me of Cassidy Keep." 

Monet smiled faintly as she gently laid an arc of eyelashes along the edge of Terry's upper lid. 

Julio politely pretended not to notice. Beside him, Star did the same. 

~~

Dinner was a pretentious, tedious affair. He led Terry in on his arm – she really did look amazing in her strapless emerald green gown – and sat down beside her, across from Star and Monet, who was wearing a deep red. The food was spectacular, served in multiple courses, and he split his time between shoving it in his mouth, enjoying a single glass of very expensive red wine and eavesdropping on conversations.

That Star's feet kept bumping his beneath the table was neither here nor there. 

Covertly, he observed the relationship between Lindsay and Sarah at the head of the table. Strained, but almost perfectly hidden behind polite veneers and magazine smiles. Being them looked exhausting, but exhaustion was Julio's permanent state. He had planned to stay in bed all day because the alternative – talking to people, taking a shower, pretending he was fine – had felt like a monumental impossibility. 

Days off didn't work for people like him, not like Madrox thought they did. 

Julio picked up his wine – perfectly aged, with a fragrant, spicy bouquet – and took a sip. 

Across the table, Star smiled at him, subtle but undeniably real. It was worth getting out of bed just for that. 

~~ 

After dinner, as the party moved from the dining room to the great hall, the gathering devolved into a drunken, raucous affair. Julio's admirer from earlier lifted a glass to him from across the room, gaze openly salacious, and Julio was torn between scowling and being weirdly flattered by the attention.

Star stepped up beside him, placing a martini in his hand. Julio sniffed it – vodka, dry, with a twist of lemon peel curled at the bottom of the glass. He assumed it had been shaken, not stirred, since Star's knowledge of drinks was limited to what he had seen on TV. He tasted it – he had no doubt the vodka was top shelf, way out of his budget – as Star's hand curved around the back of his neck possessively. 

"Don't you fucking start, too," Julio muttered into his glass. 

Star smiled demurely. "I am merely playing my role, Julio."

Julio snorted. "Despite what Madrox may think, we're not actually living in a noir film." 

"The internet assures me I have all the qualifications for an _homme_ fatale," Star said, his voice a warm murmur in Julio's ear. Julio kept his eyes fixed forward, scanning the crowd. He took another drink as Star continued, "I have clearly come into your life to seduce you and disrupt your existence." 

"So that makes me, what, the doomed anti-hero in a spiral to his own destruction?"

"Not if I can help it," Star replied, thumb stroking over Julio's hairline, "though seduction is inevitable."

"Later." Julio emptied his glass and moved away from him. Under his breath, almost impossible to hear above the hum of the crowd, Julio added, knowing Star was listening, "meet me in our room in five."

Star tilted his head but otherwise gave no indication he had heard. 

~~

Back in their room, Julio scanned through the security footage. Nothing too wild yet, but the night was young. Star showed up exactly five minutes later, looking pleased with himself. They'd had a rough go of it the last few weeks, with all the stuff with Rahne and their ongoing inability to sort their shit out. 

Still, despite it all, Julio was happy whenever he saw him. He didn't think it would ever get old. 

"Anything?"

"Like a needle in a haystack." Julio leaned back as Star combed his fingers into his hair. Julio let his gaze drift over him. He looked impossibly handsome in his tux. It felt good to be able to openly admire him. Julio hadn't realized how exhausting his other life had been. "And by later, I actually meant later."

"I know," Star replied. "We have a murder to solve before it devalues Monet's new house." 

"I don't think she's concerned about the monetary hit."

"No," Star agreed, fingers flexing against Julio's scalp. "I don't believe this is about money at all."

~~

One moment, Star was talking. The next, he was locked in position, hand motionless in Julio's hair.

"Fuck," Julio said under his breath. 

Julio shifted his gaze to the security cameras. Each image had gone from a moving picture to a frozen tableau. Monet and Terry were in the great hall, leaning into each other, Monet's mouth near Terry's ear.

It was an intimate moment that had been captured by the eerie stillness that had descended upon the murder house, and Julio felt vaguely uncomfortable even looking at it. It wasn't his business, but he wished Terry all the happiness in the world. She'd had a rough go of it, and she could do worse than M.

Julio glanced back at Star. He still hadn't moved, his blue eyes fixed on Julio, expression blank.

Staring at the screen, Julio looked for movement. He thought he saw something, but it was gone before he could identify it. When the security cameras went down, he wasn't surprised. He moved to the bed, opening the nightstand and grabbing his gun. The holster had been too obvious under the tux jacket. 

Before he left, he put his hand over Star's mouth. Still breathing, which ruled out time being frozen. On a whim, he lifted up on his toes and pressed a kiss to Star's mouth, just in case it actually worked. 

It didn't, but it was worth a try. 

Shutting the door behind him, double checking that it was locked, Julio made sure the coast was clear. It was, save for one woman in the hallway, frozen as she fumbled in her clutch for her room key. Julio had long ago stopped to question why he was randomly immune to things. Weapon XIII in Paris, the fact Quicksilver's Terrigen Crystal nonsense hadn't killed him like the others, the Isolationist shit.

Julio was used to this exact scenario playing out over and over. 

Didn't mean he liked it, though. 

~~

The power went out next while he was creeping through the hallway. He gave his eyes a few moments to adjust then pressed onward. He was still wearing his tuxedo, but it fit so well he hadn't thought to change. He also had no idea why Monet had his measurements, but she always was resourceful.

He slipped into the great hall, the clack of his shoes hollow on the hardwood floor.

If he could somehow jolt her out of whatever it was that had everyone enthralled, Monet was his best bet. He slipped up behind her and, without any better ideas, thought really hard at her. On the best of days, they annoyed the shit out of each other. In that same spirit, he focussed his thoughts on a variety of aggravating topics: the fact he and Star couldn't work their stupid shit out quietly, the fact he'd once seen her naked, the fact he'd wanted to spend the entire day in bed feeling sorry for himself. 

The fact he knew that she was gone on Terry in the same way Monet claimed half the team was gone on her. Especially Darwin and Guido, who had both worn their hearts on their sleeves, exactly like Monet was doing now.

Most days, any of these things would have earned him, at the very least, a caustic comment. 

Tonight, however, all he got was nothing at all, Monet's gaze locked blankly on Terry's smiling face. 

~~

He checked out the kitchen, and the dining room, and the home theatre, which had a couple in a compromising state of undress. Going against his baser instincts, he threw a blanket over them. 

The house was eerily quiet, and he really didn't like it. His fingers tightened on his gun. His missed his powers the most in moments like this, where he felt human and vulnerable and utterly alone. He'd spent months learning new ways to protect himself, but it never felt like enough. Still, he tried. He had to. 

He just did the best he could, kept his eyes and ears open, kept taking one step forward. 

But despite his heightened awareness, he didn't see it coming. One moment, he was creeping through the shadows, trying to find some sign of life. Then the next, his face exploded with hot, blinding pain. 

Everything went dark. 

~~

Julio woke up, tied to a chair, blood dripping out of his nose and into his mouth. He spat onto the ground. He still had all his teeth, which was his primary concern. Blinking harshly, he looked up, flinching at the light in his eyes. _So fucking predictable_ , Julio thought, testing the tape around his wrists.

It was too loose. He'd been blindsided by amateurs. He'd never live this down.

"Who the hell are you?" 

"Fuck off," Julio said, lolling his head forward and spitting again.

"Are you a mutant?"

"Does it look like I'm a fucking mutant, asshole?" he asked, looking up with a glare. His entire face felt broken, though he suspected it was only his nose. Barely moving, he worked on trying to slip his hand free. He was already sweating, which was great, but he definitely wished he was more sparsely haired. 

"Do you want to get hit again?"

"Not particularly," Julio admitted, sniffing wetly, "but I also want you to go fuck yourself, so I'm torn."

Not surprisingly, that worked out exactly how Julio expected it would. _Painfully_.

~~

As Julio sat there, nose bleeding, sweaty hands still tapped up, he brainstormed ways to get out of this. Nothing was coming to mind, but as his eyes got used to the harsh light, he could at least see what was going on. There was a van, carefully being loaded with pieces of art. That had been one of his theories.

Sometimes, Julio hated being right. 

So on one hand, there was clearly an art heist in progress, and from the look of it, it'd be a very profitable one. On the other, it looked increasingly likely that he was probably the one who got killed by the end of the night. He recognized one of them – it was the stuffy footman-steward-butler-whatever who had shown them to their rooms earlier in the day – which meant if he lived, he could point fingers. 

While Julio could see the dilemma, he wasn't a big fan of the inevitable solution, for obvious reasons.

~~

Just as Julio finally wiggled one hand free, two things happened. One, he managed to get to his gun before anyone else did. Two, Monet flew into the room, and the scene descended into absolute chaos.

"Don't fucking shoot anybody!" she shouted at him. "And don't fucking destroy my art either!"

Julio sighed, but other than the mutant who had frozen everyone in place, the rest of the crew was human. Hand to hand, Julio had still been trained by one of the best – he hated Cable for a lot of things, but teaching him to fight efficiently wasn't one of them – and made quick work of two of the goons.

Monet, always the overachiever, took out five, including the mutant ringleader. 

"Thank you," Monet said after, looking over the scene. She opened her clutch and pulled out a tissue.

"For what?" Julio asked, taking it and pressing it to his nose. 

"For answering the phone," Monet said, glaring, daring him to say something, but he just wasn't in the mood. Instead, he bowed his head slightly, ignoring the sudden flare of pain. "I'll pay for the nose job." 

"Great, thanks," Julio said and let Monet lead him to a leather chair. He collapsed into it. 

~~

The police showed up, and Julio gave his statement. He turned down a trip to the hospital but allowed a paramedic to pack his nose with gauze and put a splint on it. Monet, meanwhile, worked on snapping everyone out of the effects left by the other telepath. Star and Terry showed up a few minutes later. 

"Julio, your face," Star said, kneeling in front of him, taking Julio's hands and kissing them. 

"It looks worse than it is, but I hope you weren't dating me solely for my good looks."

"I wasn't," Star assured him, kissing his hands again. "May I murder who did this to you?"

"Absolutely not," Monet said, carefully checking Terry over. She swept her fingers gently over Terry's face, lingering, the opposite of professional. Terry smiled at her in a way Julio hadn't seen from her in months. "As of midnight, I own this house, and I would rather nobody die in it. I like it too much."

"You realize the only reason anybody almost died tonight is probably that we're here, right?" Julio said with a scowl. "This whole fucking scenario was the biggest self-fulfilling prophecy I've ever seen." 

"Don't ruin the moment, Ric," Terry told him, eyes still fixed on Monet. "Just be happy you're alive."

Julio opened his mouth to say something sarcastic, but he thought better of it at the last moment. Instead, he looked down at Star and his openly loving gaze, and at that moment, he definitely was.


End file.
